


Quiet as a Shadow

by theSarcasticWench



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Badass Arya, Drabble, Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, Extended Scene, F/M, Flashbacks, I'm Bad At Tagging, Minor Character Death, POV Arya Stark, POV Gendry Waters, POV Jon Snow, POV Sansa Stark, Post-Battle, Pre-Battle, Reunions, Spoilers, The Long Night, Theon Greyjoy is a good man, our girl did it, stark family bonding, we didn't think we'd survive it but here we are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-10 21:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSarcasticWench/pseuds/theSarcasticWench
Summary: Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow.Jon wasn't going to make it in time...But Arya might.(A series of scene expansions in different character perspectives set before and after the BoW).





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nellymaree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellymaree/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> First time posting, long time reading!  
> This episode left me with may emotions, because fucking ARYA STARK Y'ALL! 
> 
> Anyway, this drabble was inspired by [this ](https://www.reddit.com/r/gameofthrones/comments/birt01/spoilers_jon_screamed/) reddit post that's going around at the moment. I was completely fascinated by this idea, and rewatched that scene multiple times, and this fic was borne out of it.
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes, I hope you enjoy, and thanks so much for reading!

Panic was beginning to well up inside of Jon.

_I’m going to be too late_ , he despaired as he threw himself behind a pile of rubble for cover. The undead dragon shrieked, blue flames spilling from its gaping maw. The heat was almost surprising, but no less terrifying than the first time he’d seen dragonfire.

_I need to get past it_.

His mind whirled, trying to think of some way - _any way_ \- to slip by, but every move he made was tracked closely and stopped. Jon waited for a halt in the flames, and made another attempt for the archway. He was forced dive behind the stone once again as the flames flew overhead.

_I can’t_ -

Movement.

It wasn’t much, barely noticeable.

Enough that it caught Jon’s desperate eye.

A slight figure was carefully, but swiftly, making their way over the corpses and rubble with a surprising nimbleness.

He caught sight of their face in the blue light of the dragonfire, and Jon’s heart stopped.

_Arya?_

She must have felt his gaze on her.

Their eyes met, and held. Grey on grey, one pair filled with a deadly calm and determination, the other filled with fear and desperation.

She was close. Closer than he was. She’d just have to dart from the cover of the eaves to the archway that led to the Godswood, and she’d be there.

The only thing that stood between her and their goal, however, was an enraged undead dragon.

\---

_The three siblings stood before the fireplace, Jon resting a hand on Arya’s shoulder while Sansa stood at his side, her fingers brushing against his gently. Bran was seated opposite them, gazing soulfully into the fire._

_None of them spoke, choosing instead to relish in each other’s company._

_In being together again._ At last.

_Despite the chilly reception Jon had received from the Northmen, and somewhat from his sisters, they stood together._

_A Pack._

_Jon could feel several pairs of eyes on them from across the hall - Dany and her advisors hesitant to depart, lest they miss something important, along with Jon’s own company. He noted that the Hound, in particular, was glowering angrily at Arya, and that the young blacksmith couldn’t look away from her. Brienne alternated between glowering at Ser Jaime and Tormund, to checking on her young Ladies, seeming discomforted by the distance between them. Tyrion, standing close by young Podrick, watched Sansa consideringly, casually sipping his wine. Even the Northern Lords seemed entranced by the sight of House Stark standing together once more._

_“The Pack survives.” Bran spoke, apropos of nothing. The girls smiled, shooting each other a knowing glance at Jon’s bemused look._

_“When the night is over,” Jon began softly, his grip on Arya tightening slightly and his free hand closing around Sansa’s, “I think we have things we need to discuss.” Arya smirked, her eyes glittering dangerously._

_“Supposing we survive it, guess we do.” She shot back, and Jon noticed her hand resting over the hilt of her dagger._

_“Like how you keep managing to sneak up on Jon,” Sansa teased gently, squeezing Jon’s hand playfully._

_“Swift as a deer,” Bran spoke dreamily, his eyes listing towards Arya. “Quiet as a shadow.” She seemed momentarily surprised, but offered a saddened smile._

_“Just so.”_

\---

The memory struck him suddenly, and Jon knew what he had to do.

_Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow_.

Arya tensed, realising his intentions, ready to spring forward.

_Go_.

He jumped to his feet, spinning to face the dragon. The word roared from his mouth continuously, egging Arya on. He could see the slightest movement from the corner of his eye, and then nothing.

Just the gaping, torn maw hanging open in front of him, blue flames building up.

_Go._

There was a long moment, time seemed to slow as Jon’s heart pounded and he faced down his death.

And then…

Nothing.

No fire, no pain.

The dragon crumbled, falling in a rotten heap on the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left it a little open ended, not entirely sure if I'm finished with this. May write a post-battle sequel, but we'll see.
> 
> Thanks again,  
> -theSarcasticWench


	2. Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wasn't going to make it in time...
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> But Arya might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was a surprise!  
> Firstly, thanks for the lovely response to the first part, I wasn't expecting it at all!  
> Secondly, I genuinely didn't expect to get another part out so soon, but I was struck by a plot bunny that just wouldn't leave me alone and spent most of last night writing it up haha
> 
> So, without further ado, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy part two!  
> (still unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes)

It was after.

 _It was after_.

_They had an after._

Somehow, they’d survived.

Only...it wasn’t somehow.

Not really.

Arya hadn’t really had a plan to get to the Godswood, aside from run and avoid the dead. So when she’d slipped into the courtyard containing a dragon, she’d sworn and cursed her luck - _the Hound would have been proud_.

But then Jon had spotted her. They’d locked eyes for a long moment, and then he’d shot up to scream at the dragon - keeping its blue eyes locked on him as Arya shot through the archway and into the Godswood.

_Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water._

**_Not today._ **

The familiar mantra circled her mind as she ran through the throngs of dead, keeping to her toes to stay quiet - they stood eerily still, _watching, waiting_. The Walkers didn’t notice her until she was already airborne, leaping at the Night King with her dagger drawn.

**_Not today_.**

She’d felt Death at her back - _around her throat_ \- as she stared into those icy blue eyes. She hadn’t expected her little knife trick to work - _she’d been surprised when it’d worked on Lady Brienne, too_.

 _Oh_ , the thought struck her as she landed in the shards of ice that were once the Night King. _Death_ was _here, but not for me._

“Not today.” Bran spoke for the first time, catching her tired gaze. He offered the slightest smile as she stumbled towards his chair. “You did it.”

“ _We_ did it.” Arya corrected gently, her voice hoarse, as she glanced over her shoulder, back the way she’d came. Where Theon lay, his body still slightly warm despite the chill in the air. Where the countless corpses had collapsed, ringing the Heart Tree and making it impossible to wheel Bran inside.

“Just so.” Bran replied to her comment softly - almost sadly, which struck Arya as odd since she’d not seen much emotion from Bran since they’d reunited. “It may take the others some time to get to us,” he continued, his gaze following hers. “There is much to get through.” Arya felt a shudder pass through her. It was bad enough here, in the Godswood. She couldn’t imagine the size of the piles of dead surrounding Winterfell. “Rest.”

Arya nodded, sheathing her frosty dagger with a sigh. She limped to the Heart Tree, put her back against it, and slid to the ground. “Don’t go anywhere,” Arya cautioned roughly, the implication in her words clear. “Someone needs to tell Jon, when he gets here.” _Because Jon_ will get _here_ , Arya told herself firmly _._ Bran nodded once, and Arya’s eyes fluttered closed.

\---

_“The Lady of Winterfell doesn’t look too happy with you,” the comment drew Arya’s attention from the blade she’d been polishing. She looked up, slightly surprised to see the Kingslayer standing before her._

_“Lady Sansa doesn’t quite agree with my decision to join the fight on the wall,” Arya told him dryly. “I told her it was either that, or with Bran. She liked that idea less.” He snorted in amusement, and eyed her blade thoughtfully._

_“That’s an interesting sword you’ve got there. Braavosi, yes?” Arya nodded once, carefully slipping Needle back into her belt loop as she got to her feet._

_“How can I be of service, Ser Jaime?” Arya spoke coolly, her face expressionless. He seemed somewhat taken aback by her, giving her a quick once over._

_“I’ll admit, it was curiosity that led me here,” the Kingslayer offered a tentative smile, his good hand wrapped around wine goblet. “Against all odds, here you are. Somehow, a child managed to survive things that grown men did not.”_

_“Not only that,” Arya bit back a sigh at the new voice, glancing down as Tyrion stepped out from behind his brother, an inquisitive look on his face. “You’ve made quite a mark on several, impressive people.” Tyrion glanced around the room, eyes drifting lazily from face to face. “Of course, there’s your siblings - the King in the North, the Lady of Winterfell, and the Three-Eyed Raven,” the Lannisters exchanged an amused look at Bran’s title. “All awfully impressive in their own rights. And then there’s the Hound, he seems oddly fond of you - in his own, strange way.” Arya snorted at that one, glancing over at the glowering old dog._

_“Lady Brienne, a hard woman to impress on a good day, and yet you’ve managed it.” Jaime added, glancing towards the Lady in question._

_“Lord Beric Dondarrion seems to hold you in high regard,” Tyrion continued, his gaze falling on the battered Lord, who stood with the handful of Night's Watch brothers and the strange ginger wildling man - whose odd fondness for Jon seemed to carry over to the other Stark siblings. “Not to mention the Northerners. Young Lady Mormont seems especially taken by you.” Arya smiled at that. The young Lady of Bear Island was a fierce fighter and had a great deal of respect for the female warriors of Winterfell, and she held Arya’s respect in return._

_“What’s your point?” Arya cut them off, raising an eyebrow to them._

_“Oh, nothing, really.” Tyrion replied lightly, sipping from his cup. “Just curiosity. I’d like to hear the story of how you survived King's Landing and made it back North, if you’d be willing to tell it.” Arya stilled in surprise, not having expected that._

_“You want to hear my story? Why?”_

_“My Lady,” Tyrion offered a gentle smile, “You don’t understand just how remarkable it is that you’ve made it this far.” Arya’s eyes flickered between the brothers, a slight furrow in her brow. “I hope we make it to the dawn, for I would very much like to hear you speak of it.” Arya inclined her head, and offered them a short bow._

_“_ Valar morghulis _.” She intoned evenly. Jaime let out a noise of surprise -_ had he recognised the phrase _, she wondered. Arya shot him a smirk as she walked towards her waiting family._

\---

_“So how do you kill a White Walker?” Sansa asked, drawing the gaze of the council to her. She stared at Jon, pointedly ignoring the rest of the room. “The dragonglass you brought back with you is one way, but surely there are others?”_

_“Fire, my Lady,” Samwell piped up meekly, speaking instead of Jon. “And Valyrian steel.” Arya’s hand drifted down, wrapping around the hilt of her dagger in surprise. She shot a look over her shoulder at Bran, who met her gaze readily. “We’ve had some luck cutting their heads off, too, or destroying the heads completely.”_

_“Sam,” Jon cut him off gently. The maester-in-training fell silent, a sheepish look on his face. Attention returned to Jon as he caressed the pommel of Longclaw. “Wights can be killed more easily, but it’s the sheer number of them that’ll overpower us. The Walkers are the Night King’s generals. Valyrian steel to the heart, and all wights created by them will die.”_

_“Valyrian steel to the heart,” Arya murmured thoughtfully, her gazing drifting down to her dagger once more._

\---

She woke swinging, her training - along with the lingering adrenaline from the battle - kicking in, despite her previously unconscious state.

“Arya!”

Her head spun and her body ached fiercely, her wounds making themselves painfully known. She could still feel the Night King's icy grip around her throat - _burning her, bringing her closer to Death's embrace_.

**_Not today_.**

"Arya, look at me!"

A hand touched her cheek gently. She startled violently, scurrying backwards until her back hit the base of the Heart Tree. Jon - _he's alive, he's_ alive - held his hands out placatingly, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes and a gentle smile on his face. Arya's heart was racing, her chest aching as she gasped for breath.

"You're alive." Jon choked, his tears falling. Arya stilled, forcing herself to slow her breathing, telling herself that there was not threat - _it's Jon, I'm safe, he's_ alive _, we're alive_. He looked her over carefully - his gaze lingering on the wound on her head before shifting down, undoubtedly to her neck.

"Jon," Arya startled at the sound of her voice - _is that_ really _how I sound_ , she wondered with a wince. " _Jon._ " She couldn't bring herself to ask who still lived, instead flinging herself at her brother.

Jon caught her easily - he'd had years of practice when they were younger, after all - and held her as tightly as he could without straining either of their injuries.

Bran was silent.

Arya chanced a look after him, over Jon's shoulder, and found herself sighing heavily at the sight of his milky eyes.

"He waited until I'd found you two," Jon spoke softly, pulling away from Arya so that he could look her in the eyes, but not releasing her entirely. "He told me what you did." Jon's eyes fell to her neck again, a wince passing over his face.

"Wouldn't have made it without your help," Arya said hoarsely, narrowing her eyes at him dangerously. "But in saying that, _really_ Jon? Your great idea to distract the dragon was to _yell at it_?" Jon flushed bright red, freeing one arm so he could rub the back of his neck sheepishly. "You've been spending too much time with the wildlings, honestly." Jon shot her a small grin, and Arya replied with a soft chuckle.

"The sun is rising." Jon whispered gently, lowering his arm to wrap it around her once more. She rested her head tiredly against his chest, breathing out a heavy sigh. "The long night is over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering writing a third part, in Sansa's POV, so we'll see how that goes!  
> Not really sure why Jaime and Tyrion were the characters that popped up for Arya's memory, but I went with it and am surprisingly happy with the result? 
> 
> Thanks again, very much appreciated!  
> -theSarcasticWench


	3. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, against all the odds, they would be alive.
> 
>  
> 
> Sansa had to believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Thanks to everyone who has read, commented and kudos'd, it means a lot!
> 
> This part is a bit heavier on the flashbacks - they kept popping up as I was writing, so I ran with it, but I hope it doesn't interrupt the flow of things too much. Sansa is not an easy character for me to write (dunno why, but I feel like I struggle with her a bit), but I'm overall satisfied with how this turned out. Some of the concepts in this are based around discussions nellymaree and I have had, and theories that are unlikely to be true/unlikely to be discussed in the show...more in the bottom notes ^.^'
> 
> This remains unbeta'd, so I apologise for any mistakes, and I hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!

The battle was won.

 _They had won_.

It was a message that had been called to them through the door to the crypt, electing many tears of relief, followed by an assurance that they’d be freed as soon as the door was cleared. By the time the door had been unblocked and those below were escorted out, the sun had crept above the treeline, revealing the horror that filled and surrounded their home.

It was almost enough to drive Sansa back into the crypts.

 _Almost_.

“This way, my Lady,” a voice spoke softly at her right. Lord Tyrion rested a guiding hand on her elbow as he led her from the building, steering her away from the gore. Sansa wanted to shake free of it, to steel herself and show no weakness.

But the events of the night had left her more shaken than she’d care to admit.

The sight of her ancestors ripping free of their resting places would likely haunt Sansa for the rest of her life.

And, judging from the look in Tyrion’s eyes, she wasn’t the only one.

\---

_“Forgive my curiosity, Lady Stark,” Lord Varys’ smooth voice caught Sansa’s attention, halting her exit from the Hall. She glanced over her shoulder, and he bowed his head in deference. “I was led to believe that Lord Baelish had aligned himself with the North.  Was I mistaken?”_

_“You were not.” Sansa responded coldly, turning to face him fully - standing tall, shoulders back, and a look of steel on her face. The room was filled with a different kind of tension than earlier - a dark, grimly satisfied tension - which put the Queen and her council on edge instantly. Jon stood slowly, his jaw clenched and rage burning in his eyes._

_“What did he do?” Jon growled, stalking towards Sansa dangerously. “If he did anything to harm any of you,” his eyes darted from Sansa to Bran, “I’ll kill him.” Sansa couldn’t hold back the snort -_ not that I’m the only one _, she observed as half the room chuckled grimly along with her._

_“Lord Baelish was accused, and found guilty, of murder and treason. He was executed, in this very room.” Sansa informed them, gesturing the faded stain in front of the head table. Her words were followed by a stunned silence._

_“You executed Littlefinger?” Lord Tyrion repeated, a delighted half-smile on his face. Sansa gave a short nod, and the dwarf laughed loudly, clapping his hands. “Well done, my Lady.”_

_“The North remembers, my Lord.” Bran spoke softly, his eyes locking on the Queen and drifting to Lord Tyrion. Sansa gave Jon a pointed look before turning to depart._

\---

_“Jon, are you sure?” Sansa had questioned him quietly. They stood together near the fireplace, observing the room. Bran was over with Samwell, Gilly and little Sam, and Arya sat polishing her sword by the window. “The crypts...it seems like we could be tempting fate.” Jon sighed heavily, running a hand over his beard._

_“No. I’m not sure.” He admitted grimly, giving her a conflicted look. “But the Knights of the Vale won’t be back in time to escort the rest of you to safety and I’d rather not chance sending you off without them, not with the enemy so close.That’s the most secure, easily defendable place in Winterfell. Perhaps, if you’d left with the rest...” Sansa stared at him coldly at the comment, and Jon fell silent with a grimace, instantly apologetic._

_“It’s done.” Sansa was unyielding, refusing to regret her decision to wait until the last of their allies were safe or accounted for. Jon offered a short nod, and they turned away from each other to scan the room. Sansa paused as she spotted the foreign Queen._

_Daenerys was staring at Jon openly, a slight frown on her face, with her advisors close at hand. Sansa watched as Jon quickly turned away, avoiding her stare uncomfortably, and perked an eyebrow at his actions._ Curious _._

 _“Not quite the exchange I would expect from a Queen and her lover.” Sansa commented dryly. Jon winced, spinning to face the fire so he didn’t have to meet Sansa’s steady gaze. “Jon.” She chided him, stepping closer to lay a hand on his arm. “Jon, if there’s a problem, I need to know. If this alliance is falling apart, I_ need _to know.”_

_“It’s not that.” He reassured her quickly, laying his hand over hers. “You’ll be the first to know, if that were the case.” He looked troubled, uncertain. “I learnt something...troubling. And I’m having a hard time processing it. I can’t lie to her,” Jon’s shoulders drooped and Sansa sighed at him._

_“You can’t lie to her, so you’re choosing not to speak to her at all?” She tightened her grip on his arm, despairing the wisdom of men. “Jon, you’re so stupid.” She couldn’t hold back the giggle. Jon gave her an amazed stare._

_“I don’t remember the last time I saw you laugh,” he commented gently. “There’s not been much to laugh about lately, has there?” Sansa shook her head gently, her smile falling away. “I’m sorry, Sansa.” She looked up at him with wide eyes, taking in his earnest expression. “I’m sorry that you’ve survived what you have, rebuilt our home, only for this to happen. I wish...I wish things were different. I wish you, and Bran, and Arya...I wish you were all far from here.”_

_“I don’t.” Sansa cut him off sharply. “We’re stronger together. We’re a_ Pack _, Jon. Don’t you forget that.”_

\---

_“I still wish you would reconsider.” Sansa sighed._

_“I’ll say it again; if you’d prefer I fight with Theon and the Ironborn, I’m happy to join them.” Arya snarked back as she practiced twirling her dragonglass tipped spear. Sansa watched in awe as Arya danced and spun, her movements sharp and to the point, her weapon seeming like an extension of her body._

_“I’d prefer you not fight at all, but I know that won’t happen.” Sansa shot back with a frown. “Where did you get that, anyway?” Arya paused, regarding the weapon thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”_

_“I had it made,” Arya replied absently, gripping it with both hands and twisting sharply, separating the weapon into two halves. She resumed her deadly dance, the dragonglass glinting in the firelight. Sansa, despite all that was coming, felt hope sprouting inside of her._

_“You may yet survive, sweet sister,” Sansa murmured gently, content to watch Arya dance until the time came._

\---

The battle was won. _It doesn’t feel like it_ , Sansa thought numbly, observing the few survivors who could still stand as they helped those who couldn’t. The sheer multitude of their losses had yet to hit them, but when it did…

But that wasn’t the only thing that was troubling Sansa.

There was still no sign of Jon, Arya, Bran or Theon.

She could feel herself beginning to panic, despite the steely facade she wore. She’d caught glimpses of the some of the others - Lady Brienne and Podrick were resting with the other wounded, Ser Jaime and the Hound ( _and hadn’t that been a surprise, seeing him again_ ) had gone towards the Godswood, and Lord Tyrion had rejoined his Queen and her surviving advisors as they grieved Ser Jorah. Even Ghost had limped through the gate, his fur bloody and matted with filth, to rest by her side. Sansa had carefully cleaned and wrapped his wounds - _no one else is game enough to come near him_ , she thought dryly - and settled in beside him to wait.  

But there was still no sign of the other Starks.

 _The Pack survives_ , she told herself sternly, _have faith that they’re alive_.

Ghost let out a soft whine, his head coming to rest in her lap. She stroked his face gently, the gesture to soothe herself as much as it was to soothe him.  

“Pardon me, milady,” the voice to her left startled her. Ghost’s head shifted minutely, his eyes locking onto the intruder. Sansa stared at the man before her, unable to recall his name - _if I ever knew it,_ she narrowed her eyes slightly as she struggled to remember.

It was what he held in his hands that truly caught her eye.

Her breath stuttered to a halt, and she felt tears burning in the corners of her eyes.

“Where did you get that?” She gasped, swallowing a sob. She’d only seen the weapon the one time but there was no doubting that it was Arya’s. The man looked troubled, swallowing heavily as he glanced down at the weapon.

“I found it, up on the wall.” He replied thickly, his hands clenching around the spear tightly. “I made it, for Arya,” Sansa looked up sharply - _he’s Jon’s blacksmith, the one that went beyond the Wall with them_. “I found it, but not her. Have you-” his voice choked off and he dropped his gaze, looking at the damaged weapon he held in his hands. “You haven’t seen her, have you?”

Sansa blinked the tears back, threading her fingers through Ghost’s fur. The blacksmith seemed truly distressed - _he knows her somehow,_ the clinical part of Sansa’s mind realised absently, _for him to be this concerned about her, there must be some history there_.

“No. I have not.” Sansa responded shortly. “I haven’t seen any of my family.”

“Right, sorry.” The blacksmith scowled and dropped his gaze. “Sorry for bothering you, milady. I’ll just-”

“Wait!” Sansa cut him off, gently shifting Ghost from her lap - the Direwolf shot her a woeful look as he got to his feet with a huff - and pushed herself to stand. “I’ll help you look.” The blacksmith looked hesitant, but Sansa wasn’t going to give him the chance to refuse her. “Jon, Bran and Theon, at least, will be in the Godswood. I’m sure that’s where Arya would have headed too, once she realised the battle was over.” Sansa reasoned gently. “And you’d get lost, on your own.”

“Aye, that’s likely true.” The blacksmith agreed easily enough. He looked her over once more, and nodded. “Stay close to me, milady, just in case.” Sansa nodded firmly, reaching out to brush a hand over Ghost’s head before following the blacksmith.

The Direwolf quickly limped ahead, picking a path through the mounds of bodies - fresh and rotting - and around the rubble. When neither could be avoided, the blacksmith would offer an arm to help Sansa over the mess and release her quickly - much to Sansa’s surprise and relief. Ghost perked up as they grew closer to the Godswood, his ears drooping closer to his head as they reached the final courtyard.

What lay in the middle stopped Sansa and the blacksmith in their tracks.

“Is that…” Sansa trailed off, horrorstruck. The blacksmith didn’t respond, his mouth hanging open in similar shock. The corpse of the dragon was already half rotten - the stench bad enough to bring tears to Sansa’s eyes. Ghost whined uneasily, slipping around the corpse quickly with Sansa close behind him.

\---

_“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Sansa spoke softly as she stirred her stew around the bowl, not meeting her companion’s gaze._

_“We Ironborn are hard to kill, Lady Stark.” Theon joked weakly, offering a small smile. Sansa sighed in response, dropping her spoon with a thunk. “Sansa…”_

_“I don’t like this, Theon.” She cut him off, a frown on her face. “Any of it. I feel like...I feel like I’m going to lose all of my family in one night. I’ve had enough of being alone in the world to last me a lifetime, I’m not sure I could survive it again.” Theon lowered his own spoon, reaching out with his free hand to grasp hers and squeeze it firmly._

_“You won’t have to, Sansa.” Theon told her, certainty burning in his eyes. “The odds might be against us; if we’d had more time to plan and prepare…” He trailed off with a sigh, squeezing her hand again. “Have faith, in us. That we’ll make it through to the other side.” Sansa raised her eyes to meet his steady gaze, and found herself smiling softly._

_“I do have faith in you, Theon.”_

\---

His familiar eyes were cold, unseeing.

Sansa could barely look, could barely see through the tears filling her own.

_Oh Theon…_

She found herself falling to her knees next to his body, a small sob escaping her. Ghost settled beside her silently, his head brushing against her shoulder comfortingly. Sansa reached out to lay a trembling hand on Theon’s cold face.

A piece of wood jutted from his chest, and Sansa could only imagine the amount of force it must have taken to shove it through his breast plate and out the other side. _It must have been painful_ , she thought with another sob, brushing the tears from her eyes with her free hand.

 _You deserved better_.

An image of a young Theon - his auburn hair shining in the summer sunlight, a wide smile splitting his face as he joked with Robb and Jon - flashed through her mind, and Sansa found herself smiling sadly.

 _At least you can rest easy with the rest of our family_ , Sansa told him silently, her hand shifting to cover his eyes and she let out a shaky breath as she gently closed them, her head bowing in sorrow. _May you find peace, brother_.

“Sansa?” The surprised shout drew her attention.

 _Jon_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So nellymaree and I were wondering what happened to the Knights of the Vale - it seemed unlikely that they'd abandoned Sansa at this point, after everything else - and why it seemed like there was so few Northerners in the crypts (a good number of them were probably already dead or hiding elsewhere tbh) and this was one of the theories we came up with. There's a good chance it's not the case (very good chance), but I liked it and ran with it.  
> Also, might be giving Jon too much credit again, but I feel like at least one of the characters would have ( _should have_ ) at least considered the fact the crypts may not be the best place to hide from someone who can _raise the dead_ , so I had Sansa do it...  
> And I was a little disappointed that there was no mention of Littlefinger and his demise (it didn't seem like something Jon wouldn't acknowledge/ask about, but I s'pose there's still time for it yet), so that's there too...
> 
> so the chapter count has gone up again as well, 'cause I'm working on a Gendry chap next ^.^' let's see how that goes! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading,  
> -theSarcasticWench


	4. Gendry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun had risen, and somehow they'd survived.
> 
>  
> 
> Because she _had_ to have survived too. Gendry wouldn't accept anything less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Apologies for the delay, had a few events on in real life, and Gendry ended up being a bit trickier to write than anticipated!  
> Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, subscribed and kudos'd, it means a lot!
> 
> Sooooo how about that ending, huh? (￢_￢;) I'm of mixed opinions overall, feel free to leave comments sharing your thoughts haha
> 
> This remains unbeta'd, so I apologise for any mistakes, and I hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!

The dead had crumbled, and the battle was over.

The sun was rising.

Survivors were crying - in pain, joy and sorrow.

And Gendry felt empty.

He couldn’t recall the series of events that had led him from where he’d made his final stand - side-by-side with the vicious wildling man, _and hadn’t he been an impressive sight to see_ \- to the top of the wall.

 _It was the last place I remember seeing her_ , the thought passed through him dimly.

He’d half expected her to appear at his elbow once the fight was over, a cheeky look in her eyes and a smirk on her face as she teased him for being tired.

But she hadn’t.

So Gendry searched for her.

Because - despite their slim odds of survival, the _surety_ they’d felt of their impending doom - the battle was over, and the dead were defeated. So there was no way Gendry could believe that Arya was gone.

\---

_At first, it was the sounds of clashing steel that drew Gendry’s attention. He’d been kicked out of the forge - under strict orders from Ser Davos to eat and get some rest before the battle. He'd obediently collected a bowl of stew, and had been searching for somewhere quiet and warm to eat, when he heard it._

_He’d ducked through an archway, tracking the sounds, and followed the path to a small courtyard. Several familiar faces were scattered throughout - the Hound stood beside Dondarrion with a fierce scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest; Ser Jaime Lannister stood beside the young squire that followed the lady knight around, his eyes glued to the lady; and Jon Snow stood on the opposite side of the courtyard with his Night’s Watch brothers and wildling friend, all seeming stunned at what they saw._

_And it_ was _stunning._

_Arya, her slender blade in hand, danced circles around the lady knight - the bigger woman struggling to match Arya’s speed, despite her own obvious skill. Every time Arya would land a potentially fatal tap, she’d slip backwards, just out of reach with a half smirk on her face as she tucked her blade behind her back and fell into a resting stance._

_Rather than getting annoyed by her repeated ‘deaths’, the lady knight kept grinning and starting the bouts again - relishing in the challenge presented to her._

_“They’ve been at it for almost an hour,” Gendry startled slightly - the spell that Arya’s dancing had put him under breaking - and met Jon’s incredulous gaze cautiously. “I…I had no idea...” Jon swallowed heavily, letting his gaze fall back on his sister. “I was concerned, when Arya said she’d be fighting with us, and when I voiced my concerns to Sansa, she told me to come here.” Jon glanced up, and Gendry followed his stare, spotting the Lady of Winterfell and her advisor - the knight from the Vale - observing from the upper walkway._

_“She’s gotten better,” Gendry replied gruffly, letting his gaze fall back to Arya, missing the surprised look Jon was giving him. The lady knight had landed a solid blow to Arya’s ribs, but the smaller girl used it to her advantage, trapping the lady’s arm in her grip as she flicked her blade to her free hand to tap it against the neck of the lady’s armor._

_“Dead.” Arya called, her voice a little cocky as her smirk returned. The lady knight chuckled as Arya released her, and offered a slight bow._

_“Well fought, my Lady.” She replied admiringly, a sentiment echoed softly throughout the courtyard, along with some light applause._

_“I’m not a lady,” Arya replied easily, Gendry’s heart pounding as she turned away from the lady knight and her eyes locked with his. Her smirk gave way to a slighter, gentler smile._

Oh _, Gendry thought absently as his lips curved in reply._

\---

He’d almost missed it.

One half had been at the foot of the stairs, the other buried in a rotten corpse.

The feeling of emptiness gave way to dread as Gendry collected both halves of the weapon - _painstaking hours spent crafting,_ perfecting _, this weapon for_ her _, to keep her safe_.

And here it lay, broken.

And still, Arya was nowhere in sight.

He made his way down from the wall, her ruined weapon clutched tightly in his hands, gaze searching the courtyard frantically for any sign of her.

A flash of white - _in a sea of fire and death_ \- caught his eye.

The wolf, fur matted with mud and gore, had his head resting in the lap of the Lady of Winterfell, who was gently stroking his fur with a troubled look on her face.

Gendry’s feet were moving before he’d fully thought it through, carrying him to stand hesitantly before the Lady.

\---

_“You’re thinking too loudly,” Gendry had mumbled upon realising Arya was awake. She rolled over slowly - almost shyly - and he carefully drew her closer, to rest her head upon his chest. She hesitated for a moment before cuddling into him, an arm wrapping around him in return. “Try get some rest.” A soft snort was his answer._

_He slowly ran his hand over her hip, trailing up and over the vicious scars on her side -_ what happened, who did this, I’ll end them for hurting you like this _. But he didn’t ask, not wanting to ruin this quiet moment before the storm._ If this is to be our last night, let it be a good one _, he thought grimly, his hand travelling up to stroke her cheek gently._ If we survive, we’ll trade tales _, he decided resolutely._

_Arya stayed cuddled to his side for some time - long enough that he’d started to doze off again - before she carefully began to pull away. Gendry tightened his grip on her for a moment, his eyes snapping back open._

_“We should get back,” Arya spoke softly, resting a hand on his chest. “I need to see Sansa and Jon before the battle begins.” Gendry nodded reluctantly, He watched with a small smile as she dressed, his stare appreciative. She shot him a coy glance as she flicked her hair free of her collar. “Like what you see?”_

_“Oh yes,” Gendry responded quickly, rising from the sacks that had been their bed. He reached out to cup her cheek gently, drawing her in for a gentle kiss. “What’s not to like?” He murmured as the broke apart, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke._

_She answered with another -_ firmer _\- kiss, an arm wrapping around his neck as her body moulded against his._

_Too soon, she was pulling away, causing Gendry to groan his disapproval. He reluctantly let her go, reaching for his own clothes to quickly dress as well - the air was much colder, now that he didn’t have Arya’s warm body pressed up against his._

_“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Arya spoke suddenly. Gendry looked up from the laces on his trousers, startled at her demand. She stood in front of him, her eyes burning fiercely. “Promise that you won’t die.” Gendry stared for a long moment, unable to form words._

_“Arya…” He hesitated again, reaching his hand out to cradle the back of her neck, his thumb gently rubbing just below her ear. Her hand darted up, holding his in place almost desperately. “I promise I’ll try…” It wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear, but it was enough._

\---

_“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my sister?”_

_Gendry fumbled his next blow in shock, his hammer hitting the anvil with a loud clang. He looked up, heart pounding, meeting Jon’s glare nervously._

_“Begging your pardon, milord,” Gendry coughed, shifting his focus back to the dragonglass blade he was shaping. “I didn’t mean anything by it, just didn’t see the point. I thought she was dead, back then.”_

_Jon sighed loudly, drawing Gendry’s gaze back to him. “So did I. She just...vanished.” He murmured wearily, running a hand over his beard. “She won’t speak about what happened between then and now, to me or Sansa. Bran could find out easily enough, if he hasn’t already, but I’m not sure I want to find out that way…” He trailed off._

_“We travelled together,” Gendry found himself saying, lowering his hammer absently. “From King’s Landing. She’d cut her hair off, was calling herself Arry so that people would think she was a boy - smart, if you ask me.” Gendry smiled, recalling the fierce little girl he’d met many years before. “We were with the Night’s Watch. She said Yoren was taking her home, to Winterfell.”_

_“Yoren?” Jon asked, startled, a frown on his face. “He was a recruiter from the Watch, left not long after I got to the Wall.” Jon recalled. “He never made it back though.”_

_“Aye, we were attacked on the road, and taken to Harrenhal by Lannister soldiers.” Gendry told him grimly. “Thought we were dead - there were torturers, wanted information on the Brotherhood, and everyone they questioned died. I was next, but then Lord Tywin showed up.”_

_“Tywin Lannister? He had Arya?” Jon demanded, moving closer to Gendry suddenly._

_“I mean, he did. But he didn’t know it was her. He guessed she was a girl, but that was it.” Gendry quickly reassured him. “We escaped after he left, and were caught by the Brotherhood - Beric and Thoros. They sold me to the Red Woman and took her with them."_

" **I can be your family!** "

_Gendry was hit with a sudden memory; a young Arya, desperate not to lose her only remaining friend, shouting at him as he told her his plan to leave her. He guiltily remembered the look of betrayal she'd worn, the way her face had shut down at his reply, and how her eyes went cold as she turned away._

_He shook his head - shaking the memory away. "They wanted to sell her back to her mother, so I assumed she’d died at the Red Wedding with the rest of them.” He finished roughly. It had been something that had haunted him for years -_ if we'd still been together, maybe I could have saved her _._

_“And yet, somehow, here she is.” Jon murmured grimly, a curious look on his face._

_“Here she is.” Gendry agreed thoughtfully._

\---

The Lady of Winterfell was sobbing softly over the body of a fallen young man, the wolf resting at her side with his ears drooping sadly, a soft whine escaping him.

Gendry vaguely remembered seeing him at Dragonstone - _the tension between the man and Jon Snow had been very noticable_ , Gendry recalled absently. He was Ironborn and, by the looks of it, he’d gone out fighting.

“Sansa?”

The Lady’s head snapped up as her name was shouted, and Gendry was relieved to see Jon Snow running stiffly towards them - _thank the Gods he survived_. Jon only had eyes for his sister, falling to the ground beside her - _beside the fallen man that she still grieved_ \- to pull her into a tight embrace.

“Thank the Gods,” his whisper reached Gendry’s ears, and the blacksmith shifted awkwardly, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment. He quietly stepped around the siblings, allowing them their moment as his gaze searching once more.

 _There, near the big tree_.

Gendry felt his heart stutter.

She was slumped amongst the roots of the tree, her crippled brother a few feet away.

She wasn’t moving.

Gendry was rushing to her before he’d fully realised what he was doing, heart in his throat, and tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Her face was covered in blood - it was still leaking sluggishly from the wound on her forehead - but looked almost...peaceful.

 _Please no_.

“ _Arya_ -” He gasped, dropping to his knees in front of her, a trembling hand reaching out to her.

Her eyes snapped open as her body went ramrod stiff, scooting backwards until she was pressed firmly against the base of the tree. Her eyes darted around for a moment, a hand fluttering above the hilt of her knife, before her gaze sharpened and she recognised him.

“Gendry?”

 _Oh Gods_.

Her voice was rough - her collar had shifted as she moved, revealing a slowly-deepening ring of bruises - but she was _talking_. She was _alive_.

She was in his arms - either she’d thrown herself at him, or he’d scooped her up, Gendry wasn’t sure which. But she was there; her face pressed against his shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist tightly. He held her just a tight, one hand cupping the back of her head gently - _almost reverently_ \- while the other rested on her lower back.

“You’re still here,” he breathed reassuringly, clutching her that little bit tighter. Her felt her nod against his shoulder.

“So are you.” Her hoarse reply made him wince - _that sounded painful_.

“I promised I’d try.” Gendry japed gently, pulling back to offer a reassuring smile. “Wasn’t easy - thought I was a goner a few times, if I’m being honest - but then the dead crumpled.” Arya twitched minutely, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. He took the chance to give her a proper look over, noticing the slightly glazed look in her eyes and the way she leaned into him for support - _the head wound_ , he guessed worriedly. Her right arm seemed stiff - _was that ice on her glove?_ \- and she'd hunched slightly, as if to ease the pressure on her ribs. She blinked sluggishly, resting her head against his chest with a sigh.

"Stupid bull," she mumbled tiredly, and Gendry felt a smile forming. "As if I'd let you die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I was a little bummed out that they gave us Gendrya only to take it away so soon, but also it wouldn't have felt true to Arya's character for her to have said yes to his proposal... *sigh* still, I will go down with this ship!
> 
> I may yet write more on this - I'm attempting a Hound chap, or perhaps Jaime or Tyrion if that doesn't pan out - but we'll see how that goes!
> 
> Anyways, thanks again for reading,  
> -theSarcasticWench


End file.
